“Find that funny do you? That the kind of thing you find funny?” Tim Crouch’s Malvolio mutters and sputters his indignation, locked into a loop of reproach, trembling with quiet fury.

The way he looks invites laughter, not least the cap that covers his bald pate - rigged with a pair of horns and a cluster of wires topped with plastic flies - which seem to dance about him whenever he moves his head. This is a man holding fiercely onto his sense of dignity, even though whenever he bends over we can see - yuck - a leopard-skin thong peeping through his ripped, stained undergarments.

Whatever he says by way of arguing his position and asserting his sanity can’t help but add to the pitifully funny spectacle. We try not to snigger like cruel schoolchildren, but snigger we do. And the more we do, the more this vindicates his sense of being a man more sinned against than sinning; the only one with any moral sense.

How fresh, funny, poignant and thought-provoking this hour-long piece - Crouch’s finest work to-date - is. Though first staged last year, it feels like the most directly relevant show in the whole Traverse programme.

Disregard the fact that it was conceived for young people. Yes, it delivers an excellent explication of the Twelfth Night plot and a memorable means of getting inside the story to give us the steward’s angle, but it does much more than that. Without labouring any points, it speaks to the UK’s hour of liberal crisis: who’s mad, the guy calling for order and respect, or the mob who jeer and laugh?